


We're Not Broken, Just Bent (And We Can Learn to Love Again)

by SilverFlameAlchemist



Category: Pushing Daisies, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pushing Daisies Fusion, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Bardling Love, Bardlings in Bulk, Barduil - Freeform, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Healing, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Legolas ships it, M/M, Pies, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Temporary Character Death, Thorin is a dick, Thranduil's Got the Touch, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, baking and cooking, magic touch, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFlameAlchemist/pseuds/SilverFlameAlchemist
Summary: Life had not been very kind to Thranduil Greenleaf, and Death had been even crueler. But slowly, he was learning how to feel again.





	1. Pie-lot

Life had not been very kind to Thranduil Greenleaf, and Death had been even crueler.

At a young age, Thranduil had been like most other boys in most other places, enjoying life and causing the adults around him to worry. He was clever, and kind and most would have considered him average, if they had spared him no more than a glance—But Thranduil was not average. And it was not his parents’ high opinion of him that made him extraordinary, nor his grades, but instead a rather peculiar, impossible gift. Thranduil could bring dead things back to life.

With just the touch of a finger, any dead thing could be brought back to life… But this gift came with a price. If Thranduil ever touched something he had brought back to life a second time, it would stop being alive, and this time it would stay dead. Alternatively, if he touched the re-alived thing within a minute, then there would be no other consequences but left longer than that, another life would be taken for the one that had been returned.

Thranduil had learned his lesson the hard way, but that part of the story should wait until another time.

The part of the story that _shouldn’t_ wait, however, is as follows.

The facts were these: Thranduil and his gift kept him at arm’s length of most people, and he found himself isolated because of it. His secondary gift of pie-making brought people back into his life, and gave him a way to connect with them that didn’t involve touching them (at least with his hands). He, his son, and their loyal pet all lived above their shop, and the Pie-Hole (as in _shut yours_ ), brought people together.

Including people like Thorin Oakenshield, detective and busybody who knew about Thranduil’s gift, and used it to help further his career.

People like Bard Bowman, a recent addition to the staff at the Pie-Hole and the apartments above.

People like Bowman’s adorable children, always lively and enjoyable, dashing about the place.

People, Thranduil would admit if pressed, that he cared about.

And that scared him more than anything else.


	2. I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The facts were these: Thranduil had not shaken someone’s hand since the aforementioned tragedy that robbed him of his family.  
> He had also always had a thing for brunets, a secret he had kept his entire life (even from his blond wife).  
> He had also not met Bard until this moment, and was surprised and rather discomfited by how attractive he was.
> 
> In short, Thranduil found himself in quite the predicament.

The Pie-Hole, though really no more than a hole-in-the-wall, was a quaint and comfortable place to visit. Though known specifically for their pies, Thranduil had, with insistence from his son, branched out into other edible treats and pastry-based dishes.

Backing gave Thranduil a sense of purpose he had been lacking since the initial tragedy that led him to discover the exact rules of his gift. He put his heart and soul (and a decent amount of alive-again filling) into the dough, and people benefitted from it.

Thranduil, however, could not benefit from pies, at least not by eating them, as touching any part of the filling he had reanimated to any part of himself would reverse the effects.

Legolas, a teenager at the perfect age to tease his father, never let him forget it, either.

“If you just used regular ingredients, Ada, you wouldn’t _have_ this problem.”

“If I used regular ingredients, I wouldn’t be able to afford those archery classes of yours.”

Legolas would sullenly admit he was right, and changed the subject. Today, that subject was the newest addition to the Pie-Hole’s employee list.

“He has kids.” Legolas began, shifting subjects out of the blue. “They all seem nice, though. I met them today, when I took Tauriel for her morning walk.”

The Irish Setter perked up at the sound of her name, and Legolas reached down to rub her head.

“Did you both behave?”

“Admirably. They were walking their Corgi. Cute little guy… Bilbo, I think they called him.”

“Charming.”

“ _Ada_.”

Thranduil turned to see a very familiar expression on Legolas’ face, one usually reserved for times his father did something dumb, then went back to scrubbing the breakfast dishes.

“You know I’m not good with new people.” He defended. “I can’t help it. I’m sure he _and_ his children are perfectly delightful, but…”

He stiffened when Legolas’ forehead collided with his back, a warm, solid weight that eased some of the tension in his chest. He ached to turn around and hold his son, kiss his forehead and apologize for being so dumb.

He only managed the last.

“Sorry. I’m glad you like them. You could do with— _Are_ they your age?”

“Close enough.” He felt Legolas shrug. “The eldest is in my year at school.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. Right?”

“Right.” Legolas chuckled.

“Speaking of, shouldn’t you be on your way?”

“I know. I just… Do you need me, today?”

Again, Thranduil fought the urge to embrace him, settling instead for a fond smile and a nudge from a carefully-covered elbow.

“I’m not _that_ hopeless.” He teased. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”

“Tauriel, come.” Legolas called to her, the Setter trotting after him at once as he loped off to his room in order to finish getting ready.

Thranduil took a few deep, steadying breaths, and continued washing dishes, losing himself to his thoughts and the warm water. He was jarred from said thoughts by a bark from the door, and glanced over to see Tauriel sitting by the door, tail wagging expectantly.

Thranduil glanced at the clock and swore under his breath when he realized what time it was. He dried his hands, whipped off his gloves, and hurried for the door, only returning to grab his keys and phone when Tauriel whined.

“Good girl.” He chuckled, stopping himself before he scratched her head.

10 years, and he was still slipping.

He cleared his throat, shooed her gently from the door, and hurried onto the landing. He fumbled with the keys for a moment before he managed to lock the door, shoving the keys back into his pocket as he hurried down the stairs.

He took the back way into the restaurant, tying up his hair before donning an apron and getting to work. He fired up the ovens, rolled out the dough, and started reviving his ingredients before putting them together, popping them onto the racks and setting a time.

Just as he was putting the final touches on his shepherd’s pie (courtesy of fresh grated cheese and a blowtorch), a knock sounded on the back door, and he jumped, nearly catching himself with the torch. He set it down, switching it off, and hurried to the door, opening it to find a tall brunet on the other side.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckled, holding out his hand. “I’m Bard. The new guy.”

Thranduil glanced between his extended hand, his broad smile, his kind eyes, and proceeded to panic.

The facts were these: Thranduil had not shaken someone’s hand since the aforementioned tragedy that robbed him of his family.

He had also always had a thing for brunets, a secret he had kept his entire life (even from his blond wife).

He had also not met Bard until this moment, and was surprised and rather discomfited by how attractive he was.

In short, Thranduil found himself in quite the predicament.

He licked his lips and waved his flour-covered hands as way of apology.

“Nice to meet you.”

Bard chuckled and retracted his hand, waving back.

“Smells like you’re all done here, but, do you want help setting up?”

“That would be nice.” Thranduil managed, motioning him to the kitchen.

He made himself as small as possible as the brunet entered, broad shoulders taking up more room than they had any right to.

“Aprons by the door, pick whichever you like. I’ll give you the tour.”

Bard glanced at the lineup before he picked out a deep blue apron, cinching it around his waist. He smoothed it out and smiled at Thranduil.

“Nickel or dime tour?”

“We’ll start with the nickel and see how you feel.” He chuckled, moving around the counter and into the main space.

Bard kept his mouth shut for the duration of the tour, before flashing Thranduil a smile as they came full circle, ending in the kitchen.

“Any questions?” Thranduil asked.

“Plenty. But I’m not sure what they are, yet.”

“Any comments, then?”

Bard’s smile grew into a toothy grin. “I think I’m gonna like it here.

* * *

Legolas was laying facedown against the counter when Thranduil emerged from the kitchen, two weeks later, pies in hand. He set them carefully on the display before leaning onto the counter in front of the boy, arms carefully folded.

“Need a drink?” He teased.

“You’re joking, and I know that, but I want to say yes.”

“What happened?”

“Pop quiz in Economics.”

“With Elrond?”

“ _Yeah_.”

Thranduil winced in sympathy, clenching his fist to keep from reaching out. “Pie? Cocoa?”

“Both?”

“What kind?” He grinned.

“Chess?”

Thranduil clapped Legolas carefully on the shoulder, and moved to the barista’s station, smiling at Sigrid and Bard.

“Could you grab a slice of Chess pie for Legolas?” The brunet nodded as Thranduil turned his attention to the girl behind the counter. “And some cocoa?”

“Sure thing!” She smiled, turning to start making it. “Thanks for letting me work here, Mr. Greenleaf.”

“Thranduil’s fine.” He chuckled. “And you’re welcome. I didn’t realize when I hired Bard that I was getting a barista too.”

“Da doesn’t like to use the duo trump card.” She chuckled, adding a dash of vanilla to the cup. “Legolas a whipped-cream kind of guy?”

“He is today.” Thranduil laughed. “Economics.”

“Oh, I heard about that…” She winced. “I have it at a different time.”

“Lucky you.” He chuckled.

“Here ya go.” She handed over the cocoa. “I even used sprinkles.”

“Perfect.” He took the cup over to Legolas, sliding it onto the counter beside him. “Courtesy of _the cute neighbor girl_.”

“Ada!” He snapped, looking for Bard. “Keep your voice down.”

Thranduil grinned. “Oh, sorry, right, I meant Sigrid.”

Legolas grumbled into his mug and pretended his ears weren’t tipped in pink.

“So other than Elrond and his economics, how was school?”

“Not bad.” Legolas shrugged. “How was your day?”

Thranduil’s gaze strayed to where Bard was taking an order, sporting a crimson apron today.

“Work was fine.”

Legolas followed his father’s gaze, an eyebrow lifting. “Sure looks _fine_.”

Thranduil shot him a look. “That’s not—“

“Ada, it’s fine.” He interrupted. “Bard’s nice. So are his kids.”

“It’s not like that.” The baker sighed. “I’ve hardly talked to him. I can’t meet his eye half the time, and I avoid him in the kitchen like the plague.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Legolas poked the crumbs around his plate. “Do you… like him?”

Thranduil opened his mouth, ready to reply, but stopped when he caught sight of who Bard had just taken pie to.

“ _Ugh_.”

“Thorin?” Legolas guessed.

“I’ll be back.” He sighed, pushing away from the counter and rounding it, making a beeline for Thorin’s table.

“Baker.” The man greeted around a mouthful of cherries.

“Detective.” Thranduil replied. “Thought you had a dandy missing person to handle.”

“Turned out to be nothing. Over-active imagination of an under-paid gardener. I’ve moved on.”

“To?”

“Double homicide. Thought you’d be interested.”

Thranduil’s gaze drifted to Bard as he swung by the barista’s station to pick up a fresh pot of coffee.

“I’m not.”

“Since when? This is right up your alley.”

“Not anymore.” He stood, shrugging. “I make pies, not undead people.”

Thorin waited until the baker was about six steps away before he spoke.

“It was arson.”

Thranduil froze, hands clenching at his sides as he walked backwards to the table.

“Double homicide?”

“Yup.”

“Who?”

“A couple. Honeymoon.”

Thranduil slammed his hand onto Thorin’s pie, the cherries rotting instantly. He leaned in close, wiping his hand on the napkin Thorin had tucked into his collar.

“Enjoy your pie.”

He stalked back to the kitchen, his spine ramrod straight, hands clenched into fists. He stalked forward, head down, ignoring Legolas as they boy called out to him.

He slammed straight into Bard as the brunet turned the corner from the kitchen, soup and sweet tea spilling over them both.

“Oh, hell!” Bard yelled, jumping back. “Crap, are you okay?”

“Fine.” Thranduil snapped; eyes automatically training away from Bard’s soaked shirt to his own. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll get this cleaned up.” Bard hurried to add. “Sigrid! Can you give me a hand?”

The little brunette appeared in the door, followed by Legolas.

“Ada?”

“Da, what did you _do_?”

Bard gave her a sheepish smile. “Didn’t look where I was going. Help your old man out?”

“Excuse me; I’d like to register a complaint.” Thorin called from the bar. “Something’s _rotten_ in my pie.”

“Bard, get my dad upstairs and get cleaned up.” Legolas took control of the situation, giving out instructions. “Sigrid, clean up here, Mr. Oakenshield, I would be _happy_ to get you a fresh slice.”

Bard set the plates down, ushering Thranduil toward the backdoor, and Sigrid grabbed a towel.

“Table four, darling.” Bard instructed. “Offer them a slice of pie to apologize.”

Thranduil beat it to the door while Bard hurried to follow him, dripping as he went.

“Thranduil, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, if I had—“

“It’s fine.” He snapped again, stripping out of his soup-stained shirt, bundling it up as he went. “I wasn’t exactly _top ballerina_ there either.”

Bard chuckled, his keys jingling as he pulled them from his pocket. “Still… I know you don’t like to be touched.”

Thranduil froze with his hand in his pocket, slowly looking over his shoulder. “Pardon?”

“That’s it, right?” Bard questioned. “Why you dodge me in the kitchen, always sliding people their plates, never really make contact with your son… Am I wrong?”

“No.” Thranduil managed, turning back to his door. “Not entirely, anyway.”

“It’s not that odd, you know.” Bard mumbled, keys finding the lock on his door. “Especially if you’ve been through a lot.

Thranduil glanced back at him again, a faint smile spilling onto his lips. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bard smiled. “Just… If you need to talk, I’m here. I have some experience with tragedy.”

Thranduil wanted to ask what he meant by that. He wanted to ask how Bard had dealt with his tragedy, how he’d overcome it. But an insistent whine at the door and the scratching of a Setter put all his plans in a state of limbo.

He suddenly realized he was standing shirtless in a hallway with a man he had known only two weeks, on the verge of tears and very cold.

He cleared his throat, looked at the floor, and blurted another apology before running into his apartment, barely making out Bard’s response as he closed the door and leaned against it.

Tauriel nosed sympathetically at his knee, and he let out a shaky laugh.

“Durin’s folk, am I right?”

Tauriel growled, and Thranduil smiled again.

“Good girl.”

He dodged around her toward his bedroom, thankful his apron had taken then brunt of the spillage, and hurried to find a clean shirt. A few minutes and a soapy washcloth later, he reemerged and made for the door again.

His phone buzzed as he reached for the handle, checking it before he exited.

“ _Got rid of Thorin. Everything okay? Gave table 4 pie all around to make up for the delay. They weren’t jerks about it.”_

Thranduil smiled as he started to type out a reply, closing the door behind him.

“Everything alright downstairs?” Bard asked, making him jump and almost drop his phone.

“Yeah, yeah... Still like it here?”

Bard laughed. “A little spilled soup won’t drive me off.”

“There was tea too.”

“True. And, that does push my boundaries… But it’s still not a deal-breaker.”

Thranduil’s cheeks warmed as Bard threw him a grin and a wink, heading for the stairs.

Bard wasn’t the only one who was going to like it here.

 


	3. Touchy Subjects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The facts were these… Thranduil had never been an overly affectionate person, even before The Tragedy. He had given his loved ones time, gifts, and words of encouragement and adoration instead. He did not, however, consider these facts to add up to a ‘thing about touch’.   
> And so he pouted.

“Are you working with Thorin again?”

Legolas didn’t look up from his notebook as he continued to scribble out notes, gaze shifting back and forth between his textbook and paper. Thranduil, curled on the couch, kept his eyes on the page.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be?”

“No.”

“Then why are you?”

“He’s not giving me a choice.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Legolas spoke again. The tip of his pencil stilling against the page.

“Ada, is he blackmailing you?”

“In a manner.”

“ _Ada_.”

He looked up to see Legolas glaring at him, arms folded. Thranduil set his book down, giving his son his full attention.

“That’s not right.”

“Neither is what I do.”

“You _help people_.” Legolas shot back.

“I _reanimate the dead_.” Thranduil spat. “That’s not normal, Little Leaf, let alone _right_.”

“It brought me back.” The boy retorted without missing a beat. “And Tauriel. And—“

“Please don’t.” Thranduil interrupted. “That’s still…”

“Sorry, Ada.”

He returned his gaze to his books, tone lowering to a shy whisper. “I’ve had 10 more years because of you. That’s not something to shake a stick at.”

Tauriel whined, licking Legolas’ face.

“So has she. And you may give me crap about keeping her around, but we both know you secretly love her.”

Thranduil looked at the liquid brown eyes of the Setter and couldn’t help but smile. “She’s alright, I guess.”

Tauriel huffed and looked away, Thranduil’s smile tugging into a grin.

“Are you going to work with Thorin again?” Legolas prompted after a long pause, watching Tauriel as she melted under his ministrations.

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“Be careful, Ada.” He mumbled. “There’s no one to touch you back if something bad happens.”

Thranduil caught himself before he could get off the couch, sinking into the pillows further as he picked up the book and started reading again.

“Besides, Bard would miss you.” Legolas added with a smirk.

Thranduil hurled a pillow at him without even looking up, smacking him square in the face.

“Shut up and do your homework.”

“Stick in the mud.”

“This stick will still ground you.”

“ _Fine_ …”

“Besides, how would _you_ know?”

“Because I’m _not blind_.” Legolas snorted. “I see how he looks at you, Ada, there’s something there.”

“Probably curiosity and disdain.” He dismissed with a turn of his page.

He hadn’t finished reading it; he just wanted to drive his point home.

“If disdain makes people drool, then I’ve been going about it _entirely_ the wrong way.”

“Oh, he does not _drool_!” Thranduil huffed. “He keeps his distance.”

“Because he knows you have a thing about touch.” Legolas reminded him. “He’s respectful.”

“I don’t have—“

“Yeah you do.”

The facts were these… Thranduil had never been an overly affectionate person, even before The Tragedy. He had given his loved ones time, gifts, and words of encouragement and adoration instead. He did not, however, consider these facts to add up to a ‘ _thing about touch_ ’.

And so he pouted.

“It’s a good sign.” Legolas continued. “He respects boundaries. That’s important.”

“Yes, it is.” Thranduil gave him a pointed look.

He ignored it in favor of continued scribbling in his book.

“So what’s the case you’re helping Thorin with?”

“Arson. Double homicide.”

His pencil stilled against the page and he looked up.

“Ada…”

“I’ll be fine.” Thranduil deflected. “We’re going first thing in the morning. I’ll go, I’ll get scarred, I’ll come home, and I’ll bake. It’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be here if you need me.”

“It’s a weekday.”

“Half-days on Friday.”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

Legolas had the decency to look genuinely sheepish as he peeked up at his father.

“I have some friends I usually hang out with.”

Thranduil stared at him. “Did you join a _gang_?”

“It’s called a _Fellowship,_ and no… It’s a D &D group.”

“So you slay Orcs?”

“Usually.”

“Just don’t do drugs or hook up with any seedy barmaids.”

“A+ parenting, Ada.”

“I try.”

* * *

The (ironically named) graveyard shift at the morgue was run by a wiry, scatterbrained individual named Radagast.

Thranduil had no idea what Thorin had done to get him in his pocket, but apparently it had worked.

He gave them both curt nods as they entered the morgue to look at the bodies, the metallic tang of chrome and acrid scent of chemicals making Thranduil cover his mouth and nose instinctively with a sleeve.

The bodies were laid out on tables, side-by-side, sheets drawn up over them. Thranduil’s stomach lurched at the memories that flashed back to the forefront of his mind.

10 years, and he was still slipping.

Thorin threw back the first sheet, revealing patches of charred skin and singed hair. He snorted, then threw back the second one as well.

“Looks like the blaze was started around the midnight, caught most of the house and these two before the fire department got there. Alfrid died first, apparently. Smoke inhalation. Manny was the next to go. Partial burns and smoke inhalation. Probably woke up to the flames.”

“Yeah, right. Let’s get this over with.” Thranduil grumbled.

He pushed up his sleeves and readied the timer on his watch, hand poised by their feet.

“Ready.”

“Light em up.”

Thranduil let out a growl as he touched their toes, shaking his hand out as he drew it away.

“Gentleman, you are dead. I’m here to find out what happened.” Thorin began without preamble. “Tell me about the fire.”

“ _This bastard_ started it!” Manny hissed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Baking cookies in the middle of the night!”

“I just wanted to surprise you!” Alfrid shot back, voice cracking. “You were _bitching_ about how I never did anything romantic!”

“How was burning our _bleeding house down_ romantic?”

Thorin rolled his eyes while Thranduil focused on his watch.

“30 seconds.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight.” Thorin interrupted the bickering couple. “You set your house on fire trying to _bake cookies_?”

“I think I left something on the stove. I don’t remember.” Alfrid admitted.

“I got burned trying to save your sorry ass!” Manny growled. “You were passed out on the couch!”

“I was _waiting for the cookies!”_

“10 seconds.”

“You’re both fools.” Thorin spat.

“Good that you tried though.” Thranduil smiled.

“Yeah. Dumb but cute.”

“Ditto to you.”

Thranduil quickly touched them both, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Are we done here?” He prompted.

“For now.” Thorin flicked the sheets back up over them both. “I’ll come by again if I need you.”

Thranduil was already making a beeline for the door; hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched forward, head bowed. He shouldered his way out of the room, ignoring the startled yelp from Radagast as he hurried past, headed for the exit.

* * *

“Ada?”

“Hey kiddo.”

“You okay?”

Thranduil slammed the oven door and Legolas winced as he sat on the counter, legs kicking back and forth.

“Rough time at the morgue?”

“You could say that.”

Legolas hopped from the counter and got him a glass of wine, setting it on the counter behind him, touching his back gingerly before he pulled away, and hauling himself back up onto the counter.

“Uhm, I do have a question?” He began, smiling as Thranduil perked up at the sight of the wine. “School’s having this art thing in a week, and I’d like to go?”

“What kind of art?” Thranduil asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

It was rare that Legolas would sound so guilty when making a request, especially for something that involved school.

There was a long pause before Legolas continued, clearing his throat.

“Someone donated a lot of paintings and sculptures to the art department and school and I wanted to go with Sigrid, cause she’s really interested in art, but mostly I’m asking because it’s mom’s, and I didn’t want to freak you out if she brought it up.”

Thranduil stopped what he was doing, eyes losing focus as he stared at the ovens, arms folded tight over his chest, leaning back against the counter.

“Is the one of her there?”

There’s a soft sniff as Legolas bows his head and nods. “The one by the lake. Yeah.”

“Then you should definitely go.” He cracked a smile, throwing his son a look. “It’d be bad parenting if I didn’t let you enjoy good art when you had the opportunity.”

“Thanks, Ada.”

“You’re welcome, Little Leaf.”


	4. A Fine Piece of (Art) Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The facts were these... Thranduil had always been shy about that painting (he looked good in it and he knew he looked good in it), but to hear someone, anyone, really (never mind someone as attractive as Bard) tell me they thought he looked good in it was more than his poor heart could handle. And so, he was embarrassed.

“So, your mom was a painter?”

Legolas jumped slightly as Sigrid appeared at his elbow, staring at the large mural hanging on the wall before him. It depicted a house on the edge of a lake, with white-barked trees that changed slowly into evergreens that rose in a wave onto the mountains. The sun is setting, blazing like fire along the lake, and standing at the edge of the water, looking back over her shoulder, is a tall woman in a white dress. Legolas remembers her vividly, even without the help of the picture before him, and the smile she’s wearing is one he saw every morning while she was alive.

“Yeah,” he manages, belatedly realizing Sigrid is still waiting for his answer. “Sorry, I… It’s been a long time since I saw this one. I forgot how beautiful it is.”

There’s gold-leaf in the paint, he knows, and that’s what makes the sunset pop so well. There’s real bark mixed in with the tree line, and he spots an errant piece of moss that was added near the bottom of the painting, standing out against the rest of the darkened lakeside.

“She taught me a little bit,” he continues in an attempt to fill the awkward silence. “I haven’t done much since… she passed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sigrid slides her hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I sort of wondered, but, well, I lost my mom too, so I didn’t want to, you know…”

She shrugs, and Legolas squeezes her hand back as they continue to stare at the painting.

“She was really good,” Sigrid manages after another long pause. “This painting feels almost… _alive_.”

“She used to mix things into her paint,” Legolas jumps at the chance to talk about her—it’s been _so long_ since he got to _talk about her_ —about her work. “Like gold leaf, into the reds and oranges, I caught her trying to use her own hair on one of her portraits, and we laughed about it for days.”

“Wow, really?” Sigrid takes a step forward, pressed up against the velvet rope now. “That’s so cool! So, like Pollock, kind of? When he would just drop his cigarette butts into the paintings, or add newspaper to make his canvases bigger?”

“Dad used to call her the Van Gogh of Pollocks,” Legolas laughs. “This was always one of my favorites… She didn’t do a lot of self-portraits, but when she did, they were stunning.”

“She was beautiful,” Sigrid smiles back at him. “Which was your _favorite_ , favorite, though?”

“It’s here, actually,” Legolas gives her hand a small tug and leads her down the hallway to where there are three smaller portraits all hung side-by-side, her _Slice of Life_ series. “There, the one in the middle.”

The portrait is of his father, his long hair swept over to one side as he leaned down to smell one of the roses in their garden. The sun was setting behind him, and his hair was a curtain of pure starlight, picked out in gold. The look on his face was one of pure bliss, every worry line and frown-crease eased away as he literally stopped to smell the roses, his hand caressing the pink petals in a barely-there touch.

“That’s _your dad_?” Sigrid squeaked from beside him, a tint of pink on her cheeks. “He… he looks like the hero from a romance novel!”

“Well, mom always did tease him about being too handsome for his own good,” Legolas laughed. “But I’m definitely telling my dad you said that.”

“Oh, no, no!” she turned a horrified gape onto him. “Please don’t! I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again!”

“Will you anyway, now you’ve seen this?” he teased back. “I mean, _hero from a romance novel_ seems a bit specific—”

“I’ll do all your homework from Elrond for a month,” she interrupted him.

“Deal,” he grinned. “Now come on, there’s a landscape around here somewhere I want to show you, before you _fall for my dad_.”

“Oh _shut up_ ,” she hissed, but there was no venom in her tone, and Legolas laughed.

Maybe coming to the art show hadn’t been such a bad idea after all…

* * *

Thranduil poked his head around the window into the kitchen when he heard the door open, the bell chiming softly as Legolas and Sigrid came back from their jaunt, talking animatedly as they sat in a booth by the door and pulled art supplies out of their bags.

“They seem cozy.”

Thranduil jumped about a mile in the air and let out a very undignified yelp as he spun around to look at Bard, the brunet offering him a shy, apologetic smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he smirked. “Maybe I should wear a bell?”

“It might be an improvement,” Thranduil laughed, downing the last of his wine before he went back to work, rolling out the dough for the turn-overs he was about to put into the oven. “Something loud, like a cowbell.”

“Oh, here I was picturing a cat-bell,” Bard’s smirk merely grew. “You know, with a matching collar?”

Thranduil ignored the brief image that flashed into his head of Bard in a broad, brown leather collar with a comically small bell dangling from it, and threw the other man a look instead.

“What? You don’t think I could work it?” Bard feigned injury. “I’m hurt.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Well, I guess you’re not wrong,” he winked. “Want any help, now that I’m here?”

“Actually, could you set the tables? I didn’t have a chance this morning—usually Legolas does it, but he had his art thing.”

“Art thing?” Bard prompted, pulling dishes and silverware from the large tubs below the counter. “What art thing?”

“There was an art show at the school,” Thranduil continued, managing to keep his tone utterly even. “He and Sigrid went together.”

“Ahh, that’s why she took so long in the bathroom this morning,” Bard chuckled. “I thought it might be a special occasion.”

“Should he have asked permission first?”

Bard looked up to where they were ensconced in the booth, sketching on their respective canvases, their conversation much more sparse as they concentrated on their work.

“No, I think it’s good for her to go have a day to herself,” Bard spoke at last, looking back at Thranduil. “I mean, if he plans to take her to dinner, or something, then yeah, I wanna know—but that’s just cause I like to know where she’s going if she’s out at night.”

“I’ll make sure he does, then,” Thranduil smiled. “If he plans to take her to dinner, cause honestly I don’t know what he’s planning most of the time.”

“Kids,” Bard sighed dramatically.

“What about us?” Legolas prompted from the doorway as both of the men jumped from his sudden appearance.

“That’s it!” Thranduil pointed dramatically at his son. “I’m getting you a bell too. Bells for everyone. It’ll be part of the new uniform.”

Legolas laughed, “Okay, Ada, _sure_. While you’re at it, can I get a glass of water to use for painting?”

“Sure, any of the old ones are fine,” he gestured to a small cupboard to one side of the sink where they kept old and cracked dishware for just such a time as this. “Watercolors?”

“Yeah, Sigrid had never tried them before, so we sort of picked some up,” he smiled. “I guess the show kind of inspired us both.”

“How was it?” Thranduil prompted softly as Bard left to greet his daughter and start setting tables.

“Really good,” Legolas smiled again, filling a chipped glass with water. “ _Fire on the Horizon_ was there, and so was your portrait, _Smell the Roses_.”

“I forgot someone bought that,” he snorted, shaking his head. “Do I still look like a medieval hero?”

“Sigrid said you looked like—” he stopped suddenly, clearing his throat before he grinned. “Like something else, but it was still very complimentary.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t press him for answers, aware that if Legolas had promised not to tell him what Sigrid had said, that no amount of coercion would make him give it up.

“Tell her I’m flattered,” he said instead, smirking. “And if you ever get the chance to buy that painting and burn it, _do it_.”

“I would never!” Legolas grinned. “I’d take pictures and start selling prints—you’d be a hit.”

Thranduil aimed a very half-hearted kick to his backside and Legolas scurried from the room with another laugh. The baker watched him return to his seat with Sigrid, offering her the water as he plopped back down with a grin, whispering something to her that caused her to flush and turn toward the kitchen. Thranduil managed a small wave before she reached across the space and smacked Legolas’s arm, earning a yowl from the boy.

“What’s that all about?” Bard prompted, returning to the kitchen to collect condiment trays.

“I think your daughter has a crush on me,” Thranduil snorted. “There was a painting of me at the show and—”

“ _Smell the Roses_ ,” Bard smirked. “She showed me—I can’t blame her, I think I might have a crush on you now too.”

The facts were these... Thranduil had always been shy about that painting (he looked good in it and _he knew he looked good in it_ ), but to hear someone, anyone, really (never mind someone as _attractive as Bard_ ) tell me they thought he looked good in it was more than his poor heart could handle. And so, he was embarrassed.

Thranduil couldn’t stop the flush that rose into his cheeks as he stared blankly at Bard. The brunet smirked back, and for the first time, Thranduil caught that _something_ Legolas had mentioned. It was tiny, a meager flash of something more in the Brunet’s eyes before he winked and continued his work, tearing his eyes away from Thranduil.

Thranduil cleared his throat, finished with the dough, and dusted his hands, pulling his phone out to calmly send a very frantic text to his son.

_You were right, there’s something there. Mayday, what do I do? SEND HELP._

He sent it, returned his phone to his pocket, and began spooning the strawberries he had chilled overnight onto the dough. Once each had a small mound, he added a small dollop of the cheesecake batter he had also made the night before, and folded the dough back over them.

He was just putting them onto the trays to bake when his phone pinged in his pocket. He finished arranging them, painted them with an egg wash, and sprinkled sugar over the top before he popped them into the oven.

_First, breathe; you’re no good to anyone dead._

Thranduil obediently took a deep, calming breath.

_Second, I TOLD YOU SO. And third, have fun; there’s no law saying you can’t flirt back if you want, and if you don’t want, that’s totally fine too. It’s not required that you sleep with your employees, just like it’s not required for you NOT to._

Thranduil choked on air and shot the boy a filthy look from the corner of his eye as he typed back.

_I never said anything about sleeping with anyone, young man. And I feel like sleeping with an employee is frowned on? Somewhere in a code of conduct it talks about that, I’m sure of it._

Legolas replied almost instantly, and Thranduil managed a tiny smirk.

_Fine, dinner, whatever, you can sleep with or not sleep with whomever you want, Ada. Just be happy, okay?_

_Okay_.

“Need any more help, boss?” Bard prompted as he came back, the tables all set and ready to be waited on.

“Yeah, actually, would you mind doing some prep stuff for me?”

“Like, chopping things?”

“Apples, specifically, yes.”

“Sure, just give me a space and some sharp objects, and we’re good to go.”

Thranduil smiled, indicating the space he had already set up, the cutting board and knives laid out with each of the ingredients he needed cut for the pies of the day.

“You don’t mind me working in here with you?” Bard prompted softly, moving to stand beside Thranduil. “I can move to the other end of the—”

“It’s fine,” Thranduil interrupted, offering a smile and a small bob of his head as apology for cutting him off. “I appreciate you asking, but, I—it’s nice. Having you here.”

Bard’s smile was soft and warm as he nodded once before looking back at the bowl of apples before him, “Do you want these chunked or sliced?”

“Sliced, medium, and cored,” Thranduil smiled, falling into the easy conversation. “And the same for the strawberries, afterward.”

“You got it,” he smiled again, picking up an apple and grabbing a knife, slicing the apple cleanly in half.

A tiny thrill shot up Thranduil’s spine at the familiar way in which Bard used the knife, the practiced ease with which he held it, and there was something comforting in the obvious expertise he had.

Maybe having him join him in the kitchen hadn’t been such a bad idea after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If someone gets inspired to make that painting happen (on any level), I would be over the moon. XD

**Author's Note:**

> The Hobbit and all related characters belong to: J.R.R. Tolkien
> 
> Pushing Daisies and all related characters belong to: Bryan Fuller


End file.
